As if Alive
by SarcasticSeraph
Summary: Deep down, Jafar believes he had two faces. And he doesn't believe that only of himself but of most people. He thinks those people, like him, are fairly adept with such things. Other people, like his partner, are a little more honest than that. MasrurxJafar, Some violence, yaoi warning. Short hiatus


_Something written when I had been drinking. Some violent content, plus a yaoi pairing (MasrurxJafar) but nothing too bad I think  
_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

_**As if Alive**_

_**Untrue**_

Deep down, Jafar believes he had two faces. And he doesn't believe that only of himself but of most people. He thinks those people, like him, are fairly adept with such things. Other people, like his partner, are a little more honest than that.

The silver haired man is sure he is both. But then deep down he's certain he's wrong to think that.

Random thoughts like that flit across his mind and just out of his reach, before returning to him on the bed. They feel like gashes of crimson cutting across his thoughts, much like the red marks left on his lover's wrists from the assassin's wires. He has bound Masrur beneath him with those wires, and perhaps more tightly than he should. Looking at Masrur's bound hands, he just has to remind himself the man is strong enough to free himself. And he controls the Fanalis man until then.

Masrur is much, much stronger than him. He knows that. For now he watches those wires, and tells himself that the deep red marks left on the man's skin aren't a big deal. He tells himself that Masrur will understand his needs.

But then, that part of Jafar is a liar, and a proficient one. And that part doesn't have a problem encouraging him and telling him what he wants to hear.

For now, at this moment, Jafar sees this control as intoxicating. A drug and a state of mind he craves. He has Masrur allowing him to bind him to his own bed, after all. His darkened and almost serpentine eyes watch the sheets ripple in scarlet waves below their shifting bodies. They are the tone of sin, of carnal desire and nothing else. Jafar feels alright with that. He settles himself at the waist of that tanned body, and marvels at how powerful it writhes beneath him. What wasn't there to enjoy, when someone much stronger was lying bound and helpless beneath him?

Jafar tells himself he can control this. He tells himself that he can give Masrur what he wants, and not give into his own pains and pleasures. That he won't take things too far. But he feels he will mess that up.

As, of course, Jafar lies to himself, and he's already taking things too far.

"The wires are starting to hurt now," Masrur tells him earnestly. He indicates the same wires binding his wrists above his head and marking his skin. Jafar watches the bronzed and muscular arms tense. He knows he told his lover he'd let him out if this got painful. And part of Jafar had meant that. But the other half of him didn't. From the look in those scarlet eyes, it seemed the Fanalis man thought this would happen. But he doesn't make a move to stop the smaller man.

Jafar feels guilty about this, or at least part of him does. The other half feels triumphant. As that darker side of him...craves. It hungers. And it wants to dominate.

That concealed face he wears wants to tell the world there is more to him, and that he is no weakling. That Jafar can overpower this man. Or, at least, talk Masrur into allowing himself to be overpowered. Either way, the result was the same. And the pale man is trying, really trying, not to feel pleased with himself.

But the problem is that he _is_ really...really pleased with himself.

Jafar straddles Masrur's waist, and shifts down slowly. Right now, he's anything but the calm and collected mask he wears. Right now he's wild, he's free. Any thoughts and reservations are collected and scattered away. Instead he aches for the promised waves of passion soon to come.

As such, he mounts the man. He grips Masrur's naked body in between his equally naked yet paler thighs. He wants his lover to desire nothing but him and this moment. He thinks that will be enough, and most importantly that this is fun. His legs squeeze around Masrur so tightly its excruciating. And more than likely, it was more than excruciating for the man below him.

Jafar is used to pain. Both of the men are. For the former assassin, pain is a commodity for something much more useful and rewarding than gold. He deals in pain, after all. But mingling pain with pleasure is an expense he's been too frightened to pay for too long. He's equally fearful of anyone touching or getting close to him. Yet, right now, he's in the rapture of such a thing.

He continues to grind on top of the stronger man below him, and tightly closes his dark eyes. He's never ridden a horse, a cow...or whatever people might ride. Either way, he felt this might be what it was like to ride something magnificent. Masrur is gasping and crying out as Jafar's slight, porcelain body rises and falls on him. his own neat nails rake out like an animal, and embed themselves on the perfect and writhing chest below him. Jafar still tells himself that this is fine, and Masrur is enjoying himself.

Deep down however, Jafar knows the man doesn't like rough sex. At all. Masrur likes to gently dominate his partner and take his time. And he's allowing this to make Jafar happy. Happiness might not be the word, as to him it feels more like satisfying a craving and a hunger. Deep inside of him, and even within his delusions, Jafar knows he should stop.

But it's also been so long. It's been almost too long since someone touched his body. Too long since he had lost himself to another body. Since he had tasted blood and sweat, and the submission, of another person. Right now it seems too long since he's tasted sex. He longs to experience that stiffening organ which swells up in response to his backside stroking over it. a slight groan escapes him, and his body grinds heavily and almost involuntarily. He tells himself that each movement and every motion will save him. That it will make him into someone else. Someone better.

For a moment, he thinks it's worked. After all, Jafar isn't entirely sure what pleasure should be like. He knows how he thinks of pleasure, even if it seems violent and selfish. And he is trying, even if his own mind lies to him.

He hasn't noticed Masrur has freed himself from the red wires. He thought it would take longer, and feels strong hands grip at his hips. He opens his eyes and looks over the angry red circles on Masrur's wrists, and they look like red and malicious bracelets. Something, he shallowly assures himself, that seem a little like shackles of passion.

Jafar...slows down, and he stops thinking. His body grinds to a halt, and is aware of the swollen organ below wishing to penetrate him. A thousand thoughts, all borne of regret and fear all run through him at once. He feels he took this too far. He's scared of being rejected, and feels hurting Masrur after saying he wouldn't will cause that to happen. His dark and unreadable eyes meet with the scarlet fire of Masrur's. He needs to explain himself. And quickly.

"I..." he starts, and the quiet younger man shakes his head. A finger is placed to Jafar's lips and strokes softly over them. It lingers there before trailing back to his waist. Masrur has earned his freedom, and will claim his reward. Interestingly he doesn't seem angry or surprised. He just looks over Jafar softly, as if wanting to control him now.

Being controlled isn't something Jafar counts as a bad thing, after all. And now it's Masrur's turn to do as he wishes. He had just wanted control for a little longer...

Masrur effortlessly grips Jafar by his hips to lift him. He feels himself being gently pressed down into the soft bed, and his lover sits up on him. Those marked wrists grip his hands tenderly yet tightly, and hold them above his head. He knows his forearms feel bare and exposed without those crimson wires coiled round them, but that's part of the fun. Masrur seems almost afraid to let him go. To the pale man, it seems an almost strange sentiment yet he knows better than to comment on it. He feels embarrassed at how his body can be effortlessly lifted, but then he knows his partner loves doing that. A lot. Masrur, after all, likes the thought of gently dominating his body.

Thoughts vanish as hot lips draw delicately over Jafar's neck, and then his throat. A sweat-beaded body lightly presses down on his, and holds Jafar there. He allows it.

Masrur's licks and kisses explore Jafar gently, and he tilts back upon the pillows and runs his fingers through the that bright red hair. It's too gentle for Jafar's liking. He wants to say this is what he wants, but he doesn't know if it is. A tongue invades his mouth, to calm and lick slowly within him. It's both burning and dripping with emotion. He doesn't know what to think of how soft those kisses are, but then he never does. After several reassuring kisses the same scorching mouth travels down Jafar's body. Those lips want to seek out and savour every sensitive contour of his body, and try to extinguish the fury within him.

Only Jafar no long has any fury; it's out of his system. Masrur agreed to be rough, but right now it seems he just wants to touch him gently. And so he does.

However, Jafar didn't expect the dry and unprecedented penetration into his body. Without warning Masrur starts to slowly take him in frenzied thrusts. Unlike the hands holding down his wrists or the mouth leaving love bites over his chest, that entering of Jafar's weakening body hurts. But he likes that a lot, and cries out deeply to signify that. His lover just has the look that he wishes to claim Jafar gently. But then Masrur wants to make him happy and give him what he never had. Right now, as Jafar is still lying to himself and not thinking straight, he continues to lie to himself that they both want this. He doesn't want this to stop. It can't stop.

As that lever in Jafar's mind has flipped, and he softens. He becomes the person he wants to be. Right now, he just wants every part of him to be held and controlled. He wants to beg Masrur to take him, over and over again, and be powerless to stop him. A blush floods over the other man's face as the two lock eyes. He seems happy for calmly Jafar down. He wants to make love to him gently and nothing else. As such, the thrusting into Jafar's body grows slower. Masrur circles deep within him, as if to savour that hidden part. Jafar feels as if he's sinking, as if in quicksand, and into that man's comforting arms.

Masrur continues his steady pace within his body and for now seems enough. The hands gripping his wrists loosen as one is left to stroke down Jafar's body. As he's nowhere near as strong, he can be strained easy with one hand. Right now, he likes that fact almost as much as Masrur does. He's pushed down heavily into the soft bed, and surrenders to him. He shudders as the cold piercing under Masrur's lip softly rubs over and circles a silken pink nipple to slowly harden it. The warm tip of his tongue teases and laps moistly over the delicate bud before soft lips claim and suck upon it. This is new for them, and he arches back and moans to let him know he likes it. He likes this powerlessness. Those fingers trail down, feathering out and pressing over his other nipple as Masrur continues to deeply savour him.

His body feels both hypnotised and numb, and lost to the sensation of his chest being played with and his body being dominated. Both men dissolved into soft and lusty moans, and Jafar doesn't want to say anything. The sensations on him are too gentle, and be both wants and needs more. His body just shudders in its desire to become his lover's helpless plaything.

"This isn't enough, is it?" Masrur asks him softly as his lips kiss over his erected chest. Jafar shakes his head, and tightens his thighs around the man to bring him closer. "I'll go harder then..."

Jafar nods, and shudders at the thought. He feels the hand gripping his wrists tighten painfully. "I like what you're doing to my chest this time though."

"You mean this...?" lips returned to lick and scald over that sensitive skin. He arches back, and his voice dissolves into a throaty moan. Those thrusts grow faster and more violent, until the very core of his assaulted being trembles with every one of them. Deep down, he knows Masrur has fallen deeply in love with him. As such the Fanalis will do anything to make him happy.

And Jafar himself, deep down, is too scared to love him back. But Masrur will give him what he's always denied himself. He knows if he wasn't drunk on submission he'd be rational about this. It's just in moments like these, much like when he's killing someone, he actually feels alive.

But Masrur has full control over him, and Jafar can't as much as struggle. Both the hand on his wrists and the deep thrusting in his body keep him pinned to the soft bed. The lips once tenderly teasing his chest had grown deliciously painful. Sharp teeth gripped and rolled roughly at the swollen bud of his nipple before biting at it. He shudders at pain itches and prickles through him, and fingers pinch at him sharply. It excites him, and he arches back. He takes it, and he has to, and he adores how helpless he feels in his lovers hands.

Jafar relaxes in surrender, and feels light headed. Those dark, somewhat serpent-like eyes are flecked with gold fire in his aroused moments. He feels exhausted, yet at the whim of the strong and soaking thrusts penetrating him. Defencelessly he rocks with them, moaning softly at their overpowering strength. His lover loves that look and continues to dominate him, even if Masrur doesn't like hurting him.

Minutes later, a twitch resonates in that powerful body within his powerless one. With it, Jafar feels heat flood out and drown him from within. Their locked bodies press together in union as Masrur releases into him thickly, yet remains inside him. His wrists are released, but he doesn't move them. Masrur's fingertips roam over the scattered bruises of love bites covering his lover's pale skin as if to admire him. It seems Jafar has been branded by him.

He allows the Fanalis to gather up his exhausted body within his arms. A hand strokes through his silver hair, and he closes his eyes and rests into his chest. A soft kiss is stolen from him, and Jafar still doesn't know what he thinks about kissing. He reciprocates as he knows he just had things his way. And Masrur deserves to have his, too.

Those arms remain tight around him, and a hand continues to seek out the damage to his raw and marked body. Jafar knows he won't be released, and so settles against his chest and listens to his steady beat. Masrur closes his eyes and leans in to whisper in the older man's ear "...I love you."

"I love you too," Jafar lies quickly. As he fears, after all, if he doesn't say those words, all of this will stop.


End file.
